(Only half today. There’s been a death in the family and I’m only going to do what I have enough energy for. Keep in mind that these are completely, crazy rough drafts. They will be fixed and fleshed up later. Thank you all for reading so far.)
“Do you recall what this young lady said?” The Elder raised his eyebrows at Lila. The girl blushed and covered her face by drinking the entirety of her tea. “She said that the tea tasted like apples. We do not have apples here on Soielle. We have ringa. Tipper. Perceval. Do you know where apples come from?”
“Holy matron!” Perceval jumped to his paws, turned around, and stared at the children like they were the ones who were talking foxes. “Do you really mean it?”
“I’m missing the point here. In fact, what are apples in the first place?” Tipper narrowed his golden eyes. “Who are these guys, Elder?”
“You wouldn’t know, would you, Tipper? Yes. Yes, you’re far too young.”
“But Tipper is an adult! How is he young?” Lila asked.
“He’s thirty-years-old. Just a pup,” Perceval answered.
“That means he’s an adult,” Ginger huffed. “My dad is thirty five and has three kids. My mom is thirty nine. They’re adults. Why isn’t Tipper?”
Tipper’s fox ears bent and covered his head. There was a distinct pink blush painting the bridge of his nose, and he crossed his arms as if to defend himself.
“Dear one,” the Elder explained, “you are from Earth, are you not?”
“Well, duh,” Zane said. He shrugged and attacked Ginger’s untouched food.
“You can’t be from Earth. There’s been no Rift. That’s a fact,” Tipper urged.
“Not necessarily. You see, Tipper and Perceval, these children are human.”